


Take My Hand

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard is back from the war, and Lindir has an important question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts).



> Slightly belated gift for my darling alkjira who is all sorts of perfect, and who intro'd this pairing to everyone in the first place. Hints of an au we've squeed about in emails, if you squint.

The children ran to Bard first. It was only to be expected; he’d been their constant throughout their lives, having him be away for even a few months was akin to an absence of many years. Add the risk of death to that and no one could fault their shrieks and tears as they clung to their father.

 

Lindir watched fondly and tried to push down the impulse to do the same. Even when Sigrid turned and waved him over, he did not rush despite every centimetre in his body screaming that he do so, that there were only so many seconds in a day and he needed to spend as many of them with the man he loved and had not seen in so long.

 

Tilda and Bain were in each of Bard’s arms, with Sigrid sandwiched between her siblings. There didn’t seem to be place for Lindir. So he put his arms around the children as best he could, blinking away the burn in his eyes as he smiled at Bard.

 

“Welcome back,” he said.

 

“Good to be back.”

 

There were no obvious injuries on Bard – since he was holding Tilda and Bain with little difficulty – nor any visible bruises. He looked exactly as he had the day he’d left, with his uniform and too-short hair, except with his cap on the ground by his dropped bag. Lindir wanted to touch his face, to make sure for himself that Bard was _really_ here with them… but that could wait. He could wait, a little longer.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Having already planned for this day, all five of them spent the night in the living room.

 

Tilda and Bard were in the middle, with Sigrid on one side while Bain and Lindir were on the other. They’d fallen asleep in that order as well; Tilda had been halfway through a story about her class’ pet hamster when she’d fallen silent. Sigrid had made a tired query that had been interrupted by a snore from Bard. She and Bain had laughed, and they both said their goodnights.

 

Lindir was still awake.

 

He looked over the family he’d fallen in love with, and that he had the great fortune to be loved by. It was strange to think that only two years ago he was nothing more than Tilda’s ice skating coach – and while he was still that, he was more now. Why, Sigrid had recently flat out said that he was as good as a father to them, just as Bard was. Lindir had hugged her very tightly, after that declaration.

 

Now he carefully reached over to brush stray hair behind her ear. Upon retreating, Lindir’s hand took a small detour and caressed Bard’s cheek. He still could hardly believe Bard was home.

 

Lindir hadn’t actually known that Bard was part of the Reserves prior to Bard receiving his orders. Oh, he knew Bard had served, that the army was where he’d met his wife and how he’d lost her. But to find out that Bard would be off for goodness knew how long, thousands of kilometres away, fighting in an unnecessary war (as all wars were)… Lindir had not taken to the news especially well.

 

Perhaps he ought to be focusing on the present, rather than the fights they had had. Bard being alive and well and within reach was more important.

 

Sighing a little, Lindir tried to quieten his mind. It was time to put away the excitement of the day, and sleep. Tomorrow there were plans, but they could wait for now. Now it was time to rest.

 

* * *

 

“What’s all this?” Bard said, looking bemused.

 

“Dinner, darling.”

 

“I am aware. We have just eaten all of it.” He lay his napkin by his plate. “And it was lovely, thank you.”

 

Lindir beamed. “I figured, after all those rations, that’d you’d appreciate your favourites.”

 

“You figured right. Though I will say that I appreciate more than the food.” He reached across the table, ostensibly to tangle their fingers together, but Lindir pulled back before their hands touched. Bard frowned. “Lindir?”

 

“I will admit that… I’ve an ulterior motive.”

 

“Are you going to propose?”

 

Lindir blinked. “Yes?”

 

“Oh.” They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other, before: “Really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“…I ruined it, didn’t I?”

 

Despite the immediate urge to repeat his earlier answer, Lindir instead shook his head in the negative. “You just guessed at what was probably very obvious.” He stood and kneeled by Bard’s side. “But I can only hope that you’ll still consider it.”

 

“This is the second time I’ve been proposed to,” Bard said quietly, watching Lindir fetch the ring from his pocket.

 

‘And hopefully the last,’ Lindir could have said, but didn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Bard’s wife Novalie had passed, and while he did wish that Bard would say yes and they would spend the rest of their lives together, anything could happen. But that was the whole reason behind his proposing. It had been made abundantly clear to him when Bard had had to leave to fight for his country.

 

He’d never expected to find anyone like Bard; a man who was father first and foremost, giving love and help without pause or expectation, a person everyone should aspire to be. Lindir remembered their first date – impossible to forget, considering that it had almost ended in tragedy in the A&E. He remembered their first kiss – on the ice, during that same night, when it had been confirmed that Bard’s leg was indeed unbroken. He remembered their first time – some weeks later, in Lindir’s bed, with rain and unnoticed-music in the background.

 

He remembered Bard sitting the children down and telling them of the new development in their lives. He remembered being asked to move in, and remembered the actual moving in. He remembered arguments and making up. He remembered helping with homework, patching up injuries, family dinners and movie nights.

 

He remembered more recently every time the phone rang and the way his heart would sink before lodging in his throat as he waited for news that Bard had been killed in action, news that thankfully never came.

 

He remembered most clearly every single “I love you” Bard had ever uttered, every kiss they’d shared, every gentle touch. He wanted to remember them for the rest of his life.

 

“If you are willing,” he said softly, opening the ring box and proffering it.

 

“Of course I’m willing.” Bard’s voice was thick with unshed emotion. He wore the ring, because Lindir’s hands were shaking too badly for him to do it, and stood so he could pull Lindir into a tight embrace. “We’ll have to tell Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda tomorrow. Maybe we could go out for lunch and do that.”

 

“As you wish.” He didn’t mention that he’d asked the children first, even before he’d bought the ring.

 

Lindir glanced through the doorway, seeing that all three of them were on the landing of the upper floor, grinning. Bain shot him two thumbs up, and Sigrid was wiping the corners of her eyes. Tilda was dancing in place with her hands over her mouth, apparently unable to fully contain her excitement but trying her best to stay silent despite that.

 

He felt rather the same and so, after discreetly returning Bain’s gesture, pulled away from the hug so he could kiss Bard properly.


End file.
